


Warmer Leather

by DirtyKnots



Series: Kinktober 2019 [24]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Clothing Kink, Comeplay, Dirty Talk, M/M, Masturbation, Object Insertion, Scent Kink, Voyeurism, object fucking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-24
Updated: 2019-10-24
Packaged: 2021-01-02 15:09:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21163673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DirtyKnots/pseuds/DirtyKnots
Summary: Kinktober 2019: Day 24 - LeatherFelix_Silver Commented: Can you rewrite this, but from Derek's POV? It would be quite amusing to know what he's thinking as he watches Stiles, then comes back for more. I understand if you're not taking prompts, it was just a thought. I know it's a weird request, but this whole series is weird, but still brilliant, so...? Think about it, at least?





	Warmer Leather

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Felix_Silver](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Felix_Silver/gifts).

> This is a POV Shift and Follow-Up to [Warm Leather](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16421519) from Kinktober 2018.

Derek had been nearly feral the night he watched Stiles get off using his jacket, his instincts demanding he get into that room and take the boy. Had the sill not been lined with mountain ash, Derek is sure he would’ve crashed straight through the window, so he gives Stiles points for being smart enough to ward against the wolves. Instead he’d sat outside of it, frantically stripping his cock over and over as the combined scents of them wafted out to him, despite the closed window. If the ground could get pregnant, Derek surely would’ve accomplished it that night, spilling his come everywhere several times. He’d had to physically force himself to leave before the sun came up, to return to the loft and bite back his urges when Stiles returned two nights later, the jacket smelling like the dry cleaners on the surface, but like Stiles’ come beneath that (and Derek was grateful that the others were still incapable of separating out those scents - let Stiles think he’d snuck the jacket back without Derek noticing it).

As soon as they’d all gone, Derek had wrapped himself in it, buried his nose against the nooks and crannies where the scent had seeped the deepest. He didn’t care that it was too hot for a jacket, wore it nearly non-stop over the next week, ignoring the puzzled looks and nose twitches of the others. He knew they could smell Stiles even when he wasn’t with the pack, but he didn’t think it was any of their business to know why. By a week and a half the scent was fading though, and Derek found himself whining a few days later when it was almost completely gone, painted over by his own scent. 

He was outside of Stiles’ window without having made the conscious decision to even see the boy, his jacket clenched between claw-tipped fingers as he climbed through. Stiles startled, nearly toppling out of his desk chair, his face flushing a deep red as his eyes darted from the jacket to Derek’s face and back again. The click of his throat as he tried to swallow was audible, his mouth opening on some excuse for what he’d done, no doubt. But Derek didn’t want to hear that, didn’t need to.

“Do it again.”

“Derek I’m sorry - I know it was wrong, I just...wait...what?” Stiles was blinking at him, face openly confused.

“Do it again. Your scent’s nearly gone and I...do it again.” Derek held the jacket out toward him and Stiles stumbled getting out of his chair, tripped, ended up on his knees at Derek’s feet. Derek’s instincts howled at him to take advantage of the boy being in that position, to thumb that mouth open and shove his rapidly hardening cock inside of it, to fuck deep into his throat until his nose was pressed into the tight curls at the base of Derek’s cock, to ensure the only thing he could taste or smell was Derek. It took every ounce of self-control to stop himself from doing any of that, to hand the jacket over, careful not to touch because if he touched he might not stop, no matter what Stiles said or wanted. He didn’t move to help Stiles stand, instead just clenched his hands into fists, claws biting at his palms, helping pull him back from the edge. For once, Stiles must have actually listened to his own instincts for self-preservation, because he didn’t speak or argue or move closer. He took the jacket with shaking hands and stepped backwards toward the bed. That was good, that was smart. Derek’s not sure if he’d have been able to keep himself still if Stiles had shown him his back, but he can stop himself when he can see those wide eyes, wary despite the spicy scent of lust starting to fog the air in Stiles’ room. When Stiles’ knees hit the edge of his bed, Derek takes careful, controlled steps, moves himself until he can sit in the desk chair, turning it to face Stiles.

The bulge in Derek’s pants is obvious like this, and he doesn’t bother pretending it’s not. Instead he stares at his fingers until he can will the claws away. His movements are measured as he undoes his pants, shifts his hips to tug them down a bit more, out of the way, his cock springing free. He hadn’t bothered with underwear - never bothers with it. His cock is hard, the scent of precome sharp, and Derek slides a hand up his shaft, fingers helping peel his foreskin back on the downstroke, revealing the sticky-wet head. He keeps his hand wrapped loosely around himself and focuses again on Stiles, smirks a little to see the bulge in the boy’s pajamas, see how focused Stiles is on his cock.

“Pretty hard to fuck my jacket with clothes on.” Derek knows his voice has deepened, can hear the edge of smugness in it, can’t help it when he knows what he’s doing to Stiles because he can see it and smell it and hear it in the rapid beat of the boy’s heart. It also has the added benefit of snapping Stiles from his daze.

“Fuck you,” it’s half-hearted and it makes Derek chuckle darkly, some new part of him rising to the surface as he retorts.

“Not tonight, but one day. Tonight I want to watch you again, see you ride the leather like it’s your favorite toy.” Stiles swallows hard but somehow finds his voice to reply, making Derek’s smirk widen.

“And what do I get out of it?”

“You get to fuck your scent into my jacket, get to show me how much you want me to fuck you, to let you fuck me. You’re lucky you locked me out last time Stiles, I would’ve taken you otherwise. You played a very dangerous game, but I don’t think you understood what you were doing. You tried to lay claim to me, tried to put your scent on me and make me yours.”

“I had it dry cleaned!” 

“I know you know better than that.” Stiles’ jaw snaps shut with a clack and he somehow flushes deeper, because he knows Derek’s right. “You toyed with my instincts, are you really going to pretend you didn’t know that’s what you were doing?”

“I didn’t know you were out there.”

“But you knew I’d smell it on my jacket. Knew I’d know what you had done with it.” Derek smirks again when Stiles doesn’t bother trying to argue, can’t without lying. Derek leans back in the chair, legs spreading wider as he strokes himself again, thumb rubbing over his slit, smearing the precome around. "So are you going to give me what I want, or should I go?"

Derek watches Stiles' throat work as he swallows, his eyes fluttering closed before opening again, a new determination shining in them. He stops wasting time, sets the jacket to the side and strips off his shirt, flicks the waistband of his pajama pants so they drop and pool at his feet, allowing him to step free. He's bare beneath them and Derek strokes his cock again, enjoying the sight. It gets better when Stiles leans sideways and retrieves his lube from his nightstand before turning his back to Derek, looking over and smirking when he hears the creak of his chair as Derek grips the arm with his free hand.

Derek can't exactly see what Stiles is doing with the jacket, but he remembers what he saw last time, the way Stiles bunched it up and made himself a channel to fuck into, assumes he's doing the same, waits only a little impatiently for him to finish and climb onto the bed to rut into it. He's surprised when Stiles doesn't climb up, instead spreading his legs a little more as he uncaps the lube. There's the slick sound of Stiles coating his cock with it and then Stiles' knees are bending a bit and he's folding in half at the waist, leaned over his bed. It forces his cheeks to spread some, revealing his dusky, lightly furred pucker, and then he starts to thrust. 

Stiles doesn’t speak, but he’s far from quiet, letting out grunts and groans and moans as he slides his cock through the folds of Derek’s leather jacket. The scent of precome is thick in the air, both his and Stiles’, and Derek’s hand settles into a firmer rhythm against his cock. His eyes slit closed, letting his nose and ears do most of the work enjoying Stiles’ show, until he hears the creaking shuffle of the jacket, the click of the lube cap. It takes him a moment to process what he’s seeing, watching Stiles’ fingers slide between his cheeks, rub firmly over his hole, the tips dipping in and out as he wets himself. Derek’s breath catches in his throat when Stiles snakes one of the coat arms back between his legs after a minute, hand slipping the wrong way into the opening as he drags it up in the path he’d just taken with his fingers. Derek’s throat dries out completely when Stiles begins to rub the supple leather against his hole with purpose, fingers pressing against the material from the inside, pushing it past his rim. He can’t get much in, the thickness and awkwardness of the angle stopping him, but Derek’s whole body pulses at seeing even just a small part of his jacket, layered from years of wear with his scent, pushed inside of Stiles’ body. Whatever tentative control he’d had on himself snaps and he’s out of the chair and behind Stiles in the blink of an eye.

If his brain was working right, Derek would be able to process the uptick in Stiles’ heart, the flood of lust seeping off of him. He’d be able to parse out that this was what Stiles had wanted, but he can’t make those kinds of thoughts rise above the rushing in his ears, the way the edge of the shift is riding him. Instead he growls out something that’s more sound than word and is yanking Stiles around, pushing him back onto the bed, forcing his legs wide. Derek’s claws retract the second he touches that fragile human skin, but the wolf is only barely contained, eyes and fangs dropped, brows gone to wherever they go when he shifts. He slaps Stiles’ hands away from his cock, grabs the jacket and wraps it over the heated flesh, jacking Stiles with it a few times before kneeling on the bed. His hands are stronger than Stiles, his angle better, and grabs an edge of the jacket, pushing it against Stiles’ hole, fingers insistent as he forces the leather inside, feels the way the boy relaxes into the pressure. It’s still difficult, still a tight fit, still not going very far, but he keeps his fingers there - the coat a too-thick barrier between them and Stiles’ hole, and starts jacking Stiles with the rest of the coat, sliding it over his cock, relishing the way the boy squirms and cries out and tries to push himself further down onto Derek’s jacket-clad fingers.

It doesn’t take long, maybe a minute or two, before the scent of precome gets even sharper, Stiles’ body going taut and arching up as he spills into the folds of leather. Derek strokes him through it until the boy is pawing at him, whining about being too sensitive. Derek laughs darkly, strokes him once more before relenting, releasing his hold and pulling his fingers and the edge of the jacket free. Stiles’ hole looks red, a little raw from the friction of the coat, and Derek thinks it might be the most enticing thing he’s ever seen. He lifts the jacket to his face, tongue darting out to taste where it had been pushed inside of Stiles, even as he leans forward, pushing the tip of his cock against Stiles’ hole. There’s a stinging flash of fear, but Derek doesn’t press his luck, just barely gets his slit into Stiles’ opening before he stops moving forward, starts stripping his cock as he sucks on his jacket, the taste and scent of Stiles bursting through his senses. It only takes a few strokes before he’s seizing, spurting his come inside Stiles, painting his hole with it when he loses the tight grip he has on himself. The boy looks dazed beneath him when Derek’s eyes finally slit open, his hair a mess, chest flushed and heaving, sweat beaded on his skin. Derek leans back slowly, edging off the bed, slipping the jacket on before doing up his pants.

“Wait, are you leaving?” Stiles’ voice sounds small, smells worried, so Derek leans down, catches their lips together. It’s the softest thing they’ve done all night, and it leaves him feeling weak in the strangest ways, but it takes the worry out of Stiles’ scent.

“For now. Just for now.” It’s a promise, one he intends to keep. And not just because the scent on his jacket will fade again with time.

**Author's Note:**

> Come prompt me on [CuriousCat](https://curiouscat.me/dirtyknots).  
All of my additional contact information can be found on my [Profile Page](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DirtyKnots/profile)!


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